The Luna's Nerd

~Chapter 24~

I decide to skip school today. I can suffice missing one day of school, and I told Titus that I need to find a way to cope with what I've been told as an excuse. The actual reason is because I feel like I'm missing something from that dream -- well, memory.

I don't want to tell Nicole about it yet until I'm sure. I need to take care of this on my own, first. I decided to start at the root of the memory: dreaming. I search Titus' medicine cabinet, but I don't find anything useful. He told me werewolves don't get ill often. I slam it shut. I haven't gotten ill, either, so I know we don't have anything like sleeping pills lying around.

'Knock yourself out.' Dick offers. His idea crosses my mind, and I immediately punch myself without thinking. 'This is fun.' I slam my head against the bathroom counter and punch my gut. I fall back on the ground, and that's when I realize Dick is the one controlling me.

'Enough!' I grumble and I regain control over my limbs.

He shrugs, 'I was just having fun.'

I stand up and decide to think of another possible way: Grandma. I recall her reminding me she told me everything she knew about me. What else is there? I have all day to figure it out, and I know Titus will force me to go to school tomorrow. The game is tomorrow and he wants me to support him.

The thought of Titus brings me to a realization. Titus always keeps a bunch of old crap in his room. Maybe he has something in there that can surface the memory. 'Smart.' Dick notes and I walk over to Titus' room. It's a complete mess with clothes scattered on the floor and his jersey on the bed. His walls are scattered with football and video game posters. There's also a case with all of his trophies.

I stomp over to his closet and swing it open. On the bottom is a ton of shoes that he only keeps for show, and there are also old boxes. One of them where I found Titus and me's birth certificate. I grab another box labeled 'Shit.'

Upon looking inside, my heart stops. I stare at the image in awe. There is a beautiful woman dressed in all white. There's a huge smile on her face and her dark hair sways from the wind in the picture. Turing it around, it read in Dad's handwriting: Now-Luna Mary accepting her title in the ceremony.

The image is followed by a date, and underneath the image is a folded white dress. It's the same one that mom wore in the picture. I can smell a scent coming from the dress, and mom's scent overwhelms me. It brings tears to my eyes. I place them aside and see another image. It's me when I was much smaller with mom. She's beside her painting easel, and I'm sitting at a table. There's a date on the back of it, and dad's writing again: Mary and her nerd.

I laugh a little and sniff. Seeing these hurts because I can't remember them. Not even faintly, but I know I'm not the only kid in the world who can't remember their childhood. I put it aside and see one last picture. It's mom and dad on their wedding day. Alpha and Luna.

I wipe away the tears and stack the pictures together. How can Titus keep these from me? The rest of the box contains old paintbrushes and easels. There are also clear bottles with what I assume to be paint. Mom's handwriting labels the colors, and I remember that she made her own paint with anything she could find: flowers, foods, herbs, anything around the house. I put those aside, and check the box again. There's a kid drawing I recognize as my own. I wasn't the best artist in the world, but my mom inspired me.

Luna n me

My messy handwriting was scrawled over it with a picture of a small version of me holding her hand. I notice that most of these are things that involve my mom and I. Titus wasn't as close to mom as me. I feel a strong connection to the box, and I want to take it. I stuff everything I pulled out the box back into it. An anger is overcoming. I lift it up, and almost immediately, it breaks. The contents fall to the floor, and I drop the box. Great.

I don't have the patience to look for another box, so I grab the duct tape off Titus' desk and tape the bottom back together. I cut off a small piece and stick it over the Shit label. I put everything back, but I feel like I'm missing something. I finally realize it's one of the homemade paintbrushes. I can recall mom telling me it's her favorite one because dad gave it to her as a gift on their wedding day. He made it from one of the trees in the woods and leaves from the fields. I'm not sure if I believe he actually cut leaves into so many small pieces, but I don't have room to deny it.

It's difficult to search Titus' room since his entire floor is covered with clothes that are hard to determine as dirty or clean. I get down on my knees and look under his bed, and sure enough, it rolled under. I reach under his bed for the brush and I feel around for it. I'm not big enough to fit under the bed. I need someone smaller to be able to fit their arm underneath the bed.

I growl in frustration and stand up. There's got to be another way. Everyone's at school. Well, they should be home soon. 'I got this.' Dick takes over and places his arms underneath the bed. He lifts without an effort and I can see everything left under Titus' bed. Dick leans the bed against the wall with the bottom facing up and allows me to take control. I grab the paintbrush and see a shiny item next to it.

It's a small necklace pendant carved into a star. I pick it up and examine it. I don't recognize it. It must be something that one of Titus' girls left behind. I try to let it go, but Dick stops me. 'No.' He frowns.

'What do you mean no?' I can't let go of the pendant. What the hell has gotten into him?

'No.' He growls more demanding. I don't have the time to argue, so I toss the paintbrush and pendant into the box and pull Titus' bed back down. I carry the box back to my room and place it on my desk.

I grab a book from my shelf and open it up and I begin to read it. I squint my eyes because I'm reading the same sentence over again, and the words aren't processing in my brain. I'm not focused. After reading it for what seemed like the hundredth time, I toss it down and grab my pencil instead. Maybe I just need to draw to ease my mind. If that doesn't work, maybe I need to take a trip to the fields. I open my sketchbook to a blank page and I stare at it.

"The hell am I supposed to draw?" I swear aloud. 'Any ideas?' I ask Dick.

'Draw a dick.' He snorts.

I close my sketchbook and I gaze at the box on my desk. My fingers are twitching. I finally hop down from my bed and grab a permanent marker from the holder. I turn the box to the side where I put duct tape over the previous label, and I scribble in handwriting that can pull off for my 5-year-old self:

T H E  L U N A ' S  N E R D